(Son of) Durin
by DragonHeart111
Summary: Frerin, younger brother of Thorin Oakenshield, died in the Battle of Moria. 141 years later, a Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins from the Shire joins Thorin's company to reclaim Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. Alernative ending where Everybody Lives (except for the bad guys, ha ha!). Warning: contains slash. Don't like, don't read.


**So, this is my second fanfic ever. I haven't finished my first story yet, but I'm working on the next chapter of that. Anyway, I've read a few stories about Frerin and I saw he was optional as a character, so I couldn't resist. I've been having this idea for some time, so I decided to just do it.**

 **I do not own the Hobbit or any of the characters in the Tolkien-universe.**

 **Please Review!.**

 **Languages/thoughts:**

"speaking Westron/English"

" _speaking Sindarin"_

 **"speaking Kuzdul"**

 **" _speaking Iglishmêk"_**

 _thoughts_

 **If I use Kuzdul (Dwarven language), Iglishmêk (Dwarven sign language) or Sindarin (Elven language) words, I'll put the translation at the end of the chapter.**

T **hanks to The One Wiki to Rule Them All and The Dwarrow Scholar for the info used in this chapter.**

* * *

 _The world is changed._

 _You feel it in the water._

 _You feel it in the earth._

 _You smell it in the air._

 _Much that once was, is lost._

 _For none now live who remember it._

 _It began with the forging of the Great Rings._

 _Three were given to the Elves: immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings._

 _Seven to the Dwarf-lords: great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls._

 _And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men who, above all else, desire power._

 _For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race._

 _But they were all of them deceived. For another ring was made._

 _In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a Master Ring to control all others._

 _And into this Ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life._

 _One Ring to rule them all…_

 _One by one, the Free Lands of Middle-earth fell to the power of the Ring._

 _But there were some who resisted._

 _A Last Alliance of Men and Elves marched against the armies of Mordor._

 _And on the slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-earth._

 _Victory was near._

 _But the power of the Ring could not be undone._

 _The Dark Lord struck down his enemies, left and right._

 _King Elendil of Gondor made a desperate charge, but was killed as well by Sauron's mace._

 _It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father's broken sword, and sliced off Sauron's hand that contained the Ring._

 _Without the Ring, Sauron fell apart in a thousand pieces._

 _Sauron, the Enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, was defeated._

 _The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, to throw the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom._

 _But the hearts of Men are easily corrupted._

 _And the Ring of Power has a will of its own._

 _It betrayed Isildur to his death._

 _And some things that should not have been forgotten, were lost._

 _History became legend, legend became myth._

 _And for two and a half thousand years the Ring passed out of all knowledge._

 _Until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer._

 _The Ring came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains._

 _And there, it consumed him._

 _The Ring brought to Gollum unnatural long life._

 _For five hundred years it poisoned his mind._

 _And in the gloom of Gollum's cave, it waited._

 _It waited._

" _Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,_

 _Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,_

 _Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,_

 _One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne,_

 _In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie._

 _One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,_

 _One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them_

 _In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."_

Frerin smiled. Frerin laughed.

His mother always told him that he was born with a smile on his face. Frerin didn't mind. He loved to smile and he loved to laugh. There was always something to smile or laugh about. There were times when others couldn't understand why he smiled and laughed. How could someone smile in the saddest and darkest times. Well, Frerin could. Because no matter what, he could always find the bright side in situations.

Frerin was a Dwarf. Shorter than Men and Elves. Taller than Hobbits, who were half the size of a full-grown Man. Men desire power. Elves desire wisdom. Orcs desire blood. Hobbits desire good food and a warm hearth. And Dwarves… Dwarves desire metal and stone, rock and gems. Some say that Dwarves are greedy, with their lust to dig for gold and precious gems. But the other races don't hear the songs. The Songs of Stone. The Songs of Metal. The firsts of the race of Dwarves could hear the songs, and were amazed. Amazed by how they could transform a simple stone or metal into something beautiful. Time passed, and the Dwarves lost their ability to hear the Songs of Metal and Stone. But the amazement stayed. And for that amazement the other races called them greedy. Some of the Dwarves were truly greedy, where more was never enough. But were there not also Men and Elves and Hobbits who were greedy? The Dwarves just ignored the other races.

Frerin lived in the Dwarven kingdom of Erebor, in the Lonely Mountain. The Lonely Mountain was called this way because there were no mountains around it. It stood all alone. Erebor was build inside and below the mountain. The beauty of the fortress city was legend. Its wealth lay in the earth. In gems hewn from rock and in great seams of gold, running like river through stone. The stone from which the great halls were carved, was a dark green. Erebor was the greatest kingdom of Middle-earth. Before the doors of Erebor lay the city of Dale. Dale was a city of Men. Its markets known far and wide. Full of the bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful and prosperous thanks to its position next to Erebor.

Frerin's grandfather was Thrór, the King Under the Mountain. Mightiest of the Dwarf Lords. Frerin's father, Thráin, was going to ascend the throne after him. Frerin also had a brother named Thorin. Frerin loved him dearly. Thorin was five years older than Frerin, and the second in line to the throne. Frerin was the third in line.

In some things, Frerin didn't look like his brother. Thorin had thick black hair, a broad chest and muscular arms. Frerin was longer than Thorin. He was also slimmer and less muscular. He had blond hair, that looked like gold in the sun. Thorin liked a sword and Frerin preferred a battle-axe or a bow. Where his brother would already have grabbed his weapons, Frerin would still try to reason.

There were also similarities. They had the same nose, the same eyes and the same jaw line. The same mischief was present within them, although a lot more in Frerin than in his brother. They pulled pranks whenever they could. They both loved their family and cared for their friends.

When Frerin was nine, his sister Dís was born. Dís had brown hair and same blue eyes and nose as her brothers. Her jawline was a bit rounder because she was female. Dís had the same amount of mischief as Frerin, but was far more cunning. As soon as she was old enough, she joined Frerin and Thorin in their pranks. She and Frerin always had the best ideas.

Frerin cared for his people. At a young age, he had learned the difference between the wealthier people like his family and the poor. He tried anything he could to help, giving food and money. He also tried to remember the names of the subjects and to use those names when he addressed them. He wanted them to know their fates did concern the royal family. He respected every trade and craft his people practiced. Without the miners, there would be no metal and gems. Without the smiths, the metal couldn't be turned into objects. Without the masons, the great halls of Erebor couldn't be created. Without the carpenters, there would be no tables, no chairs, no beds. Without the cooks, there would be no food. Without the sewers, there would be no clothes. Without the warriors, there would be no protection. Without the scribes, nothing would be recorded or read. Frerin believed every man had equal importance. Titles meant nothing. People should be judged on their deeds, not on who they were.

Frerin's grew up a good life. He had his family and his friends. He was happy.

Frerin smiled. Frerin laughed.

The Arkenstone was found. The Heart of the Mountain. It was a small, white stone. It glowed. The Dwarves had never seen a stone that glowed before. They were amazed. His grandfather named it the King's Jewel. He took it as a sign. A sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him. Even the great Elven King Thranduil. This worsened the relationship between Dwarves and Elves.

After finding the Arkenstone, Frerin's grandfather changed. Thrór wanted more. More gold. More silver. More gems. More, more, more. More was never enough. Frerin watched his grandfather's amazement turn into greediness. Then greediness turned into obsession. A sickness had begun to grow within his grandfather.

Frerin still smiled. Frerin still laughed. His eyes just didn't smile and laugh along sometimes.

 _Where sickness thrives, bad things will follow_. Frerin had heard the saying before. Now he knew it was true. Smaug came. Smaug was a red firedrake from the north. Dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire. And gold Erebor had. A lot of gold, due to Thrór's sickness. First, Smaug destroyed Dale. Then he came for the mountain. Erebor was lost. The Dwarves were no match against Smaug, and a Dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives. The Dwarves fled. With the help of the Elves, they might have been able to defeat the Dragon. But Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the Dragon. No help came from the Elves that day. Nor any day since.

Frerin laughed when he escaped out of the mountain. He was alive. His family was alive. His friends Balin and Dwalin were alive. He was glad about that. So Frerin smiled and Frerin laughed.

Robbed of their homeland, Frerin and the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. A once mighty people brought low. Some went east, to the Dwarves of the Iron Hills. Some went south, to the kingdoms of Men. Most of the Dwarves still followed their king. They were homeless. They were starving. But Frerin kept going. He kept hoping. Hoping that one day, it would be better.

20 years had passed after Smaug had taken the Lonely Mountain. Frerin was still very young for a Dwarf, only 39 years old. Thrór decided to try to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. Frerin's father followed him. Frerin followed him. Thorin followed him. Their little sister stayed behind.

Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler, the Pale Orc. Azog had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. So he beheaded Frerin's grandfather. His father Thráin went mad grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, Frerin didn't know. They were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon them. Then Frerin saw his big brother, facing down the Pale Orc. He stood all alone against Azog. Frerin wanted to help Thorin, but he couldn't reach him. Azog smashed both Thorin's shield and sword out of Thorin's hand. Thorin was lying on the ground, wielding nothing but a oaken branch as a shield. Azog wanted to give him the final blow, but Thorin had managed to grab a sword and sliced the hand of the Pale Orc off. Azog the Defiler learnt that day that the Line of Durin would not be so easily broken.

The forces of the Dwarves rallied behind Thorin and Thorin led them. Like a leader. Like a king. Frerin was proud at his brother. The Dwarves kept fighting, and the Orcs were driven back. Frerin was fighting on the left flank when a group of Orcs made an attack. They attacked the flank were Frerin was. Frerin and his men were forced to retreat into the woods next to Moria to get a better strategic position. They hid behind the trees and waited. They waited until the group of Orcs that was sent after them had passed the trees where they were hiding. Then Frerin and the other Dwarves attacked the Orcs from behind. It was a bloody battle. The amount of bodies on the floor went bigger and bigger. Then a second, smaller group of Orcs joined the first one. An arrow flew into Frerin's leg. Frerin didn't feel the pain. He kept fighting. A second arrow hit him in his shoulder. A third in his back. Frerin kept fighting. He watched the other Dwarfs die around him. He watched his friend Fundin die. He had been like an uncle to him. Finally, it was just him against ten Orcs. He killed them. Then Frerin sunk to his knees. Then he fell on his side. He was hit by no less than seven arrows, had countless cuts and bruises, and was stabbed right through his chest. He wasn't dead yet, but he was sure he would soon. At least he would die honorably, with a sword in his hand.

A familiar face came into his view. It was his brother. Frerin's smiled. At least Thorin was alive. 'Have we won?' Frerin asked. Thorin nodded. 'Yes, brother,' he said. Frerin laughed. Blood came out of his mouth. He didn't care. After nine years, the battle was over. Thorin tried to pull an arrow out of Frerin's chest. 'Leave it,' Frerin said. 'It's too late.' He felt it. Thorin looked sad. Frerin didn't want him to be sad. 'What can I do?' he heard his brother ask. 'Tell our sister I love her. Take care of her and of our people,' Frerin answered. Thorin nodded. 'I promise,' he said. Thorin then pulled him into his arms and held him close to his chest. Frerin smiled. He was glad his brother was there. 'I love you, brother,' he said. Then he closed his eyes. In the distance, he could hear Thorin say that he loved him too. His smile went bigger. _Ironical_ , Frerin's thought before he drifted away. _He was born with a smile on his face and he died with a smile on his face._

Frerin smiled. Frerin laughed.

Frerin opened his eyes. He was lying on his back. All his injuries were gone. The first thing he saw was stone. A stone ceiling, stone walls. _Strange_ , Frerin thought. _The last time his eyes had been open, he'd been on the battlefield with his brother._ Then he heard the sound of wetstone against steel. Frerin stood up and looked for the source of the sound. In the wall to his left was a stone door, with Dwarven runes engraved in it. On a rock next to the door sat a Dwarf, sharpening his battle-axe. The Dwarf had brown hair and blue eyes. The Dwarf didn't wear any armor, just brown pants and a dark blue tunic. Frerin watched how the Dwarf finished his task and put the axe away. The Dwarf then said: 'Hello, Frerin.'

'Who are you? Am I dead?' Frerin asked. The Dwarf sighed and stood up. 'My name is Durin, Frerin,' he replied. 'And yes, you're dead. You've just died in your brother's arms.' Durin was Frerin's ancestor, one of the first seven Dwarfs of their race. Frerin noticed he had the same eyes, nose and jawline as himself.

'Where are we?' Frerin asked. Durin pointed at the door. 'In front of the door to the halls of your forefathers,' he replied. 'But I've come to ask you not to enter.'


End file.
